Sherlock Drabbles
by thingsonryebread
Summary: A collection of drabbles that I wrote two years ago for numerous Sherlock themed writing parties.
1. Chapter 1

John as hunched over his computer, his palms sweating. He hadn't had anything else better to do than play Slenderman on Halloween night, so there he was. He had collected 5 of the eight notes and had yet to see Slenderman in the trees around him, but he knew he would show up soon. He took a deep breath and continued searching the forest, scanning the area with his flashlight, and there it was the 6th note. Slowly he made his way over to it. As soon as he reached it, he heard a noise behind him. He froze. It definitely was not a good idea to be playing this in the dark on Halloween; his mind was playing tricks on him. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw something move. Slowly he turned his head and let out a scream.

"SHERLOCK! What the hell?" he gasped.

Sherlock was bent over in a fit of laughter. "I'm so sorry John, I just couldn't resist."

"Its not funny, you could have given me a heart attack." John breathed out, once the shock wore off.

"I highly doubt that John, but contrary to your belief, it was immensely funny."


	2. Chapter 2

John had been bothering Sherlock relentlessly about going on a much needed vacation. Eventually Sherlock had relented and allowed John to plan a trip for the up coming summer.

Three months later and he was reluctantly staring at blue wave and golden sand. He could feel the sun beating down on his pale, sensitive skin, and the hot sand burning the soles of his feet. "John, this is not going to work", he said as he turned on his heels and proceed to walk away in a huff.

He was stopped when two hands grabbed his elbow and dragged him back in the direction of the waves. "We haven't even been here for five minutes, give it a try. I'll bet you'll look good with a tan."

The two of them proceed to find a spot among the other beach-goers. They set out their towels and chairs, and put sunscreen on. "This is nonsense John, I don't see the point of this cream." Sherlock fussed as John placed a cool, cold glob on his back. "It will keep you from getting burnt." Sherlock responded with his usual expression of boredom.

After a few hours of lying out in the sun, Sherlock eventually fell asleep. He hadn't slept in almost 4 days and the warm sun felt so good on his pale skin.


	3. Chapter 3

They had been searching for a monstrous hound but soon realized that what was scaring the town's people wasn't a hound at all. It was something different all together and no one was safe, especially on Halloween Night.

"Sherlock, what exactly is going on here, I can tell when you keep something from me. What. Is. It!" John begged.

"I don't know john! I honestly don't know, but what its is that is following us is most certainly not a hound!" Sherlock looked around trying to get his bearings, and then suddenly he froze.

'Sherlock?" John asked, more than a little worried. "Oh my god! What is that?"

Looking at them from through the trees was a thing of grotesque proportions. It was tall and impossibly thin. And whatever it was it wore a suit and tie.

"John we have to get out of here! Run!"

The two of them tore through the woods, neither looking behind to see if they were still being followed. After a few minutes, they both were out of breathe.

"Sherlock! Sherlock hold up! I need a second." John gasped through short breaths.

"There is no time! That thing is after us" his voice trailed off.

Standing not but a few feet away was the grotesque creature. Simply staring at them calmly.

"This appears to be a boogeyman of some sort." Sherlock quipped, trying to hide just how scared he was.

'No shit Sherlock!" John gasped.

Both of them went white as they realized that the chances of getting out of this were slim.

John stepped in front of Sherlock, trying in vain to shield him from the monster.

'Back up Sherlock." He whispered. "Slowly."

'John, What are you doing?"

'Both of us aren't going to get of this. You're needed much more than I am. Just Go!" He shouted at his friend.

"I can't leave you John" Sherlock pleaded.

"Sherlock! Listen to me! Go!" tears began to well up in his eyes.

Sherlock understood from the tone of voice that John was not going to change his mind. He nodded slowly, stepped up to John, whose back was to him, and planted a kiss in his hair. Then he turned and ran.


	4. Chapter 4

Henry Knight still didn't feel comfortable about Sherlock's conclusion. He couldn't possibly believe that Frankland had killed his father, if just didn't fit. He had looked out for Henry after his father died and Henry saw him as his Uncle. Sure he had worked at Baskerville, but he and Henry's father had agreed not to talk about it and they didn't. But Sherlock said it was him and all the evidence pointed right to him, Franklin had even run away which is practically the international sign for guilt.

Henry looked outside. The moon was full and it shone through the window into his kitchen.

21 Years Earlier

Young Henry Knight had gone out for a walk on the Moor with his mother. The next thing he knew he was being taken away in an ambulance. While he was unconscious various doctors were fussing over him, Frankland included. It was not til they examined the scratch on his arm closely that they recognized he was no longer a normal boy.

When he woke up his father told him that his mother was dead. Poor Henry didn't even notice the bandage on his left arm.

20 Years Earlier

It had been almost a year since his mother had died and Henry's Dad was taking him on their weekly walk to Dewer's Hallow. His father was slightly nervous but Henry wasn't thinking much about that. When they arrived at the Hallow the clouds had cleared revealing a full moon bright enough to light up the sky. All Henry remembered before he blacked out was his father screaming.

When Henry woke up the next morning his father was gone. He wandered the Moor for several hours before he was found.

Back to Present

Henry left his house and headed for Dewer's Hollow. He wasn't sure what made him take walks to the Hollow so regularly but he always felt better afterward so he didn't care. On the plus side there wasn't any more gas so his nightmares about a gigantic hound should be over.

He looked up at the moon and it was the last thing he remembered until morning.


	5. Chapter 5

He blamed John. It was his entire fault. Before John had moved in, Sherlock had been perfectly ok, but now he was nothing by a complete mess.

It had all started one night when John had come home after a long day of work and decided to do nothing but watch the telly. Sherlock was fine with that, he may not fully comprehend the needs of the body, but he knew not to bother John when he was absolutely exhausted. He simply continued to do work on his computer and do his best to drown out the idiotic noises that where coming from the direction of the television.

The next week after a very long and difficult case, John made tea and sat down in front of the telly again. "Why do you always do that?" Sherlock asked him, genuinely curious about how John's brain worked. "I do it as a way to escape the world, it doesn't take much brain power to watch telly and after a long case sometime not using your brain for a bit could be quite refreshing. You should try it sometime, turn that brain off for an hour or so." John smiled up at him before turning back to the television. "I'd rather not, I like thinking, its what I know, it keeps me sane." Sherlock mumbled as he went to the kitchen to continue working on an experiment he had started the previous morning. However he kept his ears open for the sounds coming from the television.

As time went on Sherlock secretly started to pay more attention to the telly when John was watching it. He would sit in the kitchen or locate himself behind John and watch quietly, pretending to be working on something when John looked his way. But it was getting much more difficult to hold back all his responses to the idiotic things that were being said.

One night he just couldn't keep his thoughts to himself any longer and he shouted at the TV, much to John's amusement. "Sherlock, if your going to watch the telly, stop hiding in the kitchen and just come and sit with me on the couch, the take-out should be here soon anyway. We can eat it while we watch, I think a Bond movie is on, on one of the channels." Laughed John in his friend's direction. "I'm not watching the telly John, I'm working on an experiment, I just happened to over hear that man's error and didn't want you to you be subject to his false information." "What ever you say Sherlock."

The next night, Sherlock joined John on the couch.

It soon got to the point where Sherlock would watch the TV while John was working, just to do so. He told John that is was to practice his skills of deduction; reality shows were very good for that. It was somewhat true, he also enjoyed proving how smart he was with all his corrections, but for the most part he liked watching the telly. However he would go to hell before he let anyone know that.

And this was what led him to his current predicament. He had been so distracted by the idea of a movie night with John that night that he had almost let the criminal go free. Something had to be done about his newfound addiction. Could it be called an addiction? Yes it definitely was and it was affecting him in ways he had never experienced before.

"Sherlock, are you ok? You didn't seem yourself today." John asked him when they got back to Baker St. Sherlock brushed him off with a quick, "Yes I'm fine, why wouldn't I be fine. Do you want to order the take out or shall I?"

John's jaw dropped, "You're volunteering to order take-out? Something is definitely wrong with you"

"I said I'm fine! Thai it is then, why don't you go put the movie on while I phone them." Sherlock quickly walked off, not looking back to see John's shocked expression.

When he got back John was still standing where he had left him. "You!" John yelled, "You got distracted by this Movie Night didn't you?" He grinned at Sherlock. "I'm right aren't I? You like watching movies and crap telly." Sherlock glared are John, trying to stop the blush that was beginning to from in his cheeks. Too late, John had noticed it and had started laughing. "Fine, yes! You've gotten me addicted to TV, happy?" Sherlock shouted back at his friend, very upset by the turn of events.

"Its ok Sherlock, with me as a Flat-mate, it was bound to happen eventually. Now stop sulking and lets watch the movie." He moved toward the couch, Sherlock sat down beside him and curled up into a ball.

"You've got to help me John." He whispered. John simply started to giggle once more and shook his head.


	6. Chapter 6

"Dr. Watson, what would you like Mr. Holmes's epitaph to be?

 _"Sherlock! Your going to get yourself killed one day if you keep going on like this, jumping off of roofs and ingesting various poisons." John yelled as he walked into the hospital room that Sherlock had found himself after ingesting an aforementioned poison._

 _'I probably will. I wonder, what would you put down on my headstone?" Sherlock joked, trying to relieve some of the concerned tension in the room._

 _"Probably something like, 'Here lies Sherlock Holmes, For such a Genius he sure was an idiot" John smiled at him and sat down in the seat next to the hospital bed._

 _Sherlock chuckled, "Yours would be, 'John Watson, a careful man who carelessly runs into any passing danger."_

 _The two of them spent the reminder of visiting hours exchanging witty epitaphs, both for themselves and other people that they knew. "Mrs. Hudson could be 'Here lies the Beloved , please no mourning at her request'" Sherlock breathed out at one point between fits of laughter. "We could also celebrate her funeral in a true Dia de los Muertos style, with all the colors and liveliness! I bet she would love that!' John added, he too was breathless from giggling._

 _It had been an enjoyable afternoon. One of the few where Sherlock wasn't being Sherlock._

"Dr. Watson? An Epitaph?" the Funeral Director asked earnestly.

John looked at him, but didn't actually see him. "oh sorry mate, there wont be an epitaph. Simply write 'Sherlock Holmes."


	7. Chapter 7

It had been bothering him for 2 years now and John had finally decided that it was time to ask Sherlock about the Skull on the mantel.

"Hey Sherlock, I was just wondering, why exactly is there a skull on the mantel?" He looked up from his paper at the man sitting across from him.

"Oh, that." Sherlock said drying. "When I was younger I read that the ancient Aztecs kept the skulls of their deceased because they believed that their souls inhabited them during the Dia de los Muertos riturals. However the day of the dead is a modern term for it, I found the ancient name for it irrelevant seeing how the Aztecs are dead." He waved his hand as if dismissing the idea.

'Really, that's it? You read it in a book and thought the idea was cool. You really do believe in a higher power don't you.?" John smirked, Irene really had had Sherlock all figured out. But before he could look back at his paper and continue reading a thought hit him. "If you liked the idea of the Aztecs keeping the skulls of their ancestors, whose Skull is that?!"

"Oh, my grandfather of course!"


	8. Chapter 8

When Sebastian Moran was 5 years old, his father bought him his first gun, granted it was a toy gun, but it was a gun nonetheless. His father was the greatest marksman and assassin ever, and young Sebastian wanted to be just like him when he grew up. He would run around the house shooting his parents and the dog with the Styrofoam bullets and then proceed to run away giggling. His mother wasn't too happy about the idea of her son becoming interesting in guns at such a young age, but his father couldn't be prouder. "he's going to be just like me when he grows up, all he needs is a little bit of practice," said his father as he fondly watched his little boy shoot the dog one more time and run off shrieking with joy.

When Sebastian Moran was 12 years old his father took him on his first hunting trip to teach him patience and stealth. Since receiving his first gun when he was 5, his father had given him some of his old guns and taught him how to shoot, and Sebastian had perfect aim. Now it was time to try moving targets. They waited for what seemed like hours, and young Sebastian was starting to get antsy. "You have to sit still and wait, if they hear you or see you, they will run." His father told him firmly. After another hour or so a deer came walking right past them, in a rush of excitement, Sebastian shot wildly at the animal, missing each time. He looked up at his father, "It's ok Seb, it's was your first time, and you got excited, but keep practicing and you'll get it eventually."

When Sebastian was 16 years old, he finally was allowed to go with his dad on a hit. He'd been waiting for this his whole life and practicing every day so that he might be just as good as his father. The two of them waited on the roof of the building across the street from the target. While they waited, Sebastian's father silently showed him how to use the wind gauge and line up a perfect shot, then together they sat quietly for hours until the target showed up. Sebastian wasn't a good enough sharpshooter yet to actually take the shot, so he contented himself with watching his father, in awe of all the talent and power that he possessed. His father grinned at him once the hit was complete, "One day soon Bastian, you'll be able to shoot just as good as me, maybe even better, just keep practicing."

Sebastian Moran joined the army shortly after his father's death. He had been trained since childhood to be a sharpshooter and he wanted to put his skills to good use. He quickly became the best, and he basked in the power of being able to take someone's life away; but he still wasn't as good as his father. With every shot he took the distance between him and his chosen targets got farther and farther apart, and he edged closer and closer to being able to shoot just as far as his father. "I'm practicing Da, I won't let you down, I will be just as good as you one day."

Several years later, Sebastian Moran has become a professional assassin just like his father. While waiting for his target to show up, he checks the wind gauge and lines up his shot. As the hours tick by, he becomes nervous that his target won't be showing up, and therefore he won't get paid, he lets out a deep sigh of frustration. "Awww, did the mouse not show up, Tiger?" came a sing-song voice behind him. Sebastian wildly wipes around in surprise. "Who are you?" he asks, scared that it might be an undercover agent? "The name's Jim and I'm looking for a competent killer to work for me. I've been keeping my eye on you for sometime and you are a perfect shot." Sebastian stares at him "So what do you say? You'll have a substantial and steady income if you work for me." Jim hold out his hand.

"Alright, I'll give it a shot" was Sebastian's response as he takes the hand offered.

Jim smiles slyly, "Now Tiger, tell me how it is you can shoot that far"

Sebastian turns away; his target has finally showed up on the street corner below, his aims his rifle and fires, killing the man instantly. Turning back to Jim, he shrugs "I practiced."


End file.
